


it’s only a sacrifice if you love it

by mindyfication



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Knifeplay, M/M, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Ritual Sex, Season 1 Sam Winchester, Self-Sacrificing Sam, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindyfication/pseuds/mindyfication
Summary: “Uh, genie?”He snorts, shaking his head as he comes to the edge of the altar, fingering a rose. The movement is eerily familiar, the way he touched flowers before leaving them at her grave-“Christo,” Sam breathes, doesn’t want it to be true.The demon flinches, his yellow eyes flash, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> and there's a hint of wincest because i'm weak. i think all the big warnings are tagged? uh definitely check those
> 
> this actually ended up way softer than the first version o.O

Sam wakes up on an altar eerily similar to ones he used to dream of being fucked on. It’s all black and white swirled marble, about the size and shape of a long twin bed, red roses outlining it. There’s a few high stained glass windows, and the rest of the room is lit by candles hung from the ceiling. The only thing out of place is the thick silken pillows his body is on, and he’s thankful for the deviation. He’s sure solid marble on bare skin wouldn’t actually be that sexy, more cold and unforgiving. The room doesn’t feel decadent or silly like it did the first few times he fantasized about it, even though it’s far more dramatic being here. He should be freaking out a little more at the nudity, but just being in the place he’s imagined so many times is inherently calming. 

Sam’s cataloging the different creatures that could have created this place- and the unexpected pillows fuck up all of his guesses. He’s almost halfway to convincing himself that it’s just a super realistic dream when the man comes in. There’s no question that the monster is wearing his face, his hair a little longer, his face a little colder, but it looks just like him. His cock even matches, and Sam’s reluctantly enjoying the narcissism while the rest of his mind sorts out how he’s offended.

“Shapeshifter,” Sam decides. It still doesn’t explain the pillows or nudity, but it’s the only thing that kind of fits. 

The other version laughs, coming closer, “Try again.” 

“Uh, genie?” 

He snorts, shaking his head as he comes to the edge of the altar, fingering a rose. The movement is eerily familiar, the way he touched flowers before leaving them at her grave-

“Christo,” Sam breathes, doesn’t want it to be true. 

The demon flinches, his yellow eyes flash, “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” 

“But- you can’t- how do you have my body?” 

“Oh Sammy,” the demon coos, “we both know there’s only one possibility. Spoilers, it didn’t take being tortured for me to turn.” 

Sam’s going to be sick. He didn’t even know how demons were made, none of the lore agreed. Knowing that they were once human, that _he_ would become one- he dry heaves over the side, eyes shut against the heat. 

The demon continues nonchalantly, “I have a pretty nice life down here, but I need some help from you to close certain gates. An angel owed me a favor, plucked you out of the past for me.” 

“That’s- that’s not possible,” Sam says, scooting backwards. He looks down for the first time, and he should have expected it, the floor is literally made of bubbling lava. Fuck, why couldn’t he have been a normal horny kid, imagined a hot tub or something. 

“Easy,” he says, and the demon’s on the altar with him, cold hands on his ankles. 

“What type of help?” Sam spits out, looking for an escape. 

“Sammy, darling,” the evil- yes _he_ was the evil one, Sam needed to keep that in mind- version says. “It’s for the greater good. You want to be a good boy don’t you?” 

Sam bristles, kicks out. The demon doesn’t let his foot move more than an inch, slamming it back down. “Ow! We’re practically the same age, don’t call me that. You condescending fuck.”

The demon laughs, tickles the bottoms of his feet and slams them down again when he tries to move them. “Mm, we never were good with authority. Demons don’t age y’know.” 

Sam gulps, doesn’t quite want to test how much he’ll hurt him. The aging wasn’t in the lore he found and he can’t help the curiosity. “How old are you?” 

He shrugs, “Dunno. Time passes differently here.”

Sam’s eyes narrow, “You’re lying- you know.” 

His other self’s lips curl up into a smile, “Caught me.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, and Sam exhales hard. “Okay. Can all demons walk on lava?” 

“Not without burning up. You can call me Jesus later.” 

Sam flushes, pushes past the innuendo, “What greater good were you talking about?”

He nods seriously, looks nearly human in the gesture. “I want to close all the gates between realms. It means no more monsters on earth.” 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

Sam tugs a hand through his hair, “Won’t you miss it?” 

The demon laughs, eyes flashing gold with mirth. “You’re so cute. No. Every soul comes to me Sammy, and I can be patient.” 

“ _Every_ soul?” Sam squeaks out, “There isn’t… somewhere else?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “This is your room Sam. Is it really so bad?” 

Sam flushes, “No.” 

“What’s the saying- hell is what you make of it?” The demon’s being coy with him, teasing him in a distinctly not-Sam way. It irks even though it shouldn’t- it should be a promise of their differences, not an abrasive reminder of transformation. 

“How did we become like this?” Sam asks, “Why?” 

He drops his legs, a sudden chill wrapping around his ankles. “We wanted to save the world. We wanted to make sure Lucifer would never be freed.” His smile becomes self-deprecating, “We thought being the king of hell would come with more obedient demons.” 

Sam huffs a small laugh, can’t imagine Meg serving anyone kindly.

He sighs, “And then the angels started talking about freeing Lucifer for the apocalypse, and well, here you are.” 

“Why me?” Sam can’t help but ask, feels guilty as the words leave his tongue. He’d do it, but god, things had just started to get almost good with his family. Dean and him were like brothers again, and him and Dad actually shared a meal without arguing over anything. 

He smiles softly, cupping his cheeks. “Because I love you. You’re my innocence, my could have beens, the lie I used to tell myself about getting out of the life and being normal. You’re the purest piece of me Sammy, there’s no one I could love as I love you.”

Sam doesn’t have a response for that, and the demon eases up with a wry smile, nearly Dean-like. It makes him wonder for a moment why it’s him and not Dean- but he’s pretty sure he isn’t going to like that answer, doesn’t want to know.

“My predecessor wanted to do the spell, but they couldn’t kill God. And demons can’t love any but themselves, wouldn’t kill themselves to save all creation much less humans.” His mouth twitches, “It’s a lucky thing we’re so fragmented.” 

“You’ll be okay,” Sam breathes. “Even if I…?” 

His hands squeeze his wrists softly, “Yes. You are only a part of me, a part I’ve lived without for many years. Our entirety will not perish.” 

“Okay.” 

“You’re sure Sammy?” he asks, twirling a knife. “This spell is as old as creation, will refuse to be unsated once begun.” 

Sam takes a deep breath before nodding. He knew what he might be getting into, and saving the world had to be worth it. Even if he returned to earth this moment and started hunting 24/7, he wouldn’t be able to do a smidgen of good that this spell could do. And that wasn’t even taking into account his fated- unfated?- future as a demon. He’s no fool, knows no demonic version of him can possibly live purely, certainly not hell’s ruler. 

The older Sam snaps his fingers, and the hanging candles drop until they’re a foot or so above them, shoving everything into a harsh light. It feels a whole lot less magical and more surgical, and in the dim shadows he had missed his other self’s tattoo and muscles. He’s concave in places that don’t make sense and there’s a faint echo in the air, a long forgotten conclusion to his dreams. It never felt like a vision Sam suddenly thinks, it was always too familiar. 

He presses the blade to Sam’s sternum, a feather-light pressure but the blade’s sharp enough to break his skin. He draws and Sam focuses on his other face, distracting himself. The pain isn’t so bad, but he doesn’t really want to watch himself carve into himself. There are new lines on his face, not from expression but hunger, and god, how much it must take to mark a demon.

And then there’s a hand on his cock, and every sensation comes back strong, overwhelming. Sam looks down, there’s a too-perfect circle cut into his torso, an assortment of sigils lining it. He recognizes the star of Ishtar, a triquetra, an ouroboros, but the rest are pretty squiggles to him. There’s an exquisitely cut out bull and a hexagon made out of antlers that stand out the most. 

His older self stops suddenly, presses his left hand to the center of the circle and begins chanting. It sounds like no language Sam has ever heard, all short words and harsh noises. Pain burns through his chest then, and as the demon raises his hand, blood follows, floating up in the shape of the carvings. And then it suddenly cracks out of existence, black smoke shooting to the ceiling’s shadows. 

“It’s begun,” he says, reverently. 

Sam’s leaning up on his elbows, isn’t sure when that happened, and looks down at his chest. It’s messy, bits of blood outside of their lines. He’s barely thought about how twisted it is that he liked it better before, to see the symbols, when his older self starts licking him clean. Warm, wet sweeping heat that feels uncomfortably good. 

“Dude- you-” Sam starts, not sure where he’s going. “What are you doing?” 

He smirks up at him, blood tainted lips. “Making it good for us.” 

“You’re-” Sam gulps as the demon licks lower, toying with his bellybutton. 

“Once in a lifetime experience Sammy,” he says, and ice darts down his spine. The older him softens at that, kisses his hip. “You’ve been dreaming this up your whole life baby boy. You’re the reason any of this is possible. It doesn’t need to hurt anymore.” 

“But-”

“Shh, easy baby. It’s just us, okay? Happiness and then peace Sammy.” 

Sam leans up to kiss him, kisses him first. He tastes like the breath after a cigarette, dries his throat out and puts tingles in his lips. Addictive too, that part is a given. (Fatal too, that might be a mercy.) 

The older him pushes him down, lays his weight on Sam. It isn’t even that he weighs much- he doesn’t, deceptively light- it’s the pressure, of every bit of himself being pressed against all at once. It’s enough to make him keen, a louder moan coming as their cocks knock against each other. 

“How do you want it?” the demon asks, and Sam blushes. 

“You know.” 

He smirks, “If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.” 

It’s hot and dangerous all at once, and Sam knows exactly what he’s doing to himself. It’s a gentle torture, and he shoves Dean out of his head. 

“No, I want you.” 

The demon looks immeasurably pleased. “How Sam?”

“I want you to fuck me, to take me as high as you can.” He swallows, ears burning, “And then finish the spell.” 

“The best part of me,” he murmurs, and before Sam can answer, he’s sucking his cock down, yellow eyes flashing up at him. Sam can’t remember the last time he got a blow job, much less someone inhaling his entire cock. He comes too fast, a hot flash of pleasure. The older Sam sucks him clean, his own hips twitching from sensitivity, and two fingers have slipped up his ass while he was distracted. He clenches around them, writhing on the sheets. 

“More, I need more,” he moans, and the other him takes his fingers out, cuts a new line along his hipbone. 

“The _fuck_ ,” he hisses, his need to orgasm doused, but his arousal heightening in a confusing combination. 

“Too soon, relax Sammy," he says, making a shallow parallel cut that sends his ears roaring. 

Sam growls, grabs his older self’s cock. “No. _Now_.”

“Brat,” he says fondly. 

Sam snorts, “When did you stop liking efficiency?” 

The demon shrugs, knife clattering down as he thumbs the unmarred hipbone. “A few hundred years ago.” 

“Shit,” Sam mutters, can’t comprehend or imagine such a stretch of time. 

His other self must not have learned it well though, shoves into his hand. “If you insist.”

Before Sam can put together his comment, the fingers are back with a third, stretching him open. There should be something holding back his tongue, some hesitation, but the begging words are already out of his mouth. “More, _more_. I want you.” 

“Sammy-”

“Fuck me,” Sam demands. 

And he does. A thick heavy heat replacing his fingers in a blink, the most delicious pressure pushing him open. He feels claimed in a way he hasn't before, fingers grasping at his shoulders. 

Sam isn’t even aware of the noises he’s making until the demon coos in his ear, “You moan so fucking pretty Sammy.” 

He can’t help the flush at that, lightheaded, doesn’t know how he still has enough blood for it between what’s been bled out and his cock. The demon slams into him, over and over, knows exactly where all his best spots are. He nibbles on his neck, licks up his chest, teases his jaw, tickles the inside of his thigh. It’s inhuman the way he hits his prostate at every stroke, and that thought takes him even higher, golden eyes burning into his own. 

Bliss consumes him, the most he’s ever felt as his vision goes pure white, and then he is no more.


End file.
